


Reaching Out

by SuicidalSmile



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game), Otome
Genre: F/M, Fluff, but you still love him, he tries to hard but his willpower is breaking, poor boy, this is that feel, when you on the 8th day and seven is being meeaaan, you're nice to him and he suffers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-20 03:56:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8235245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuicidalSmile/pseuds/SuicidalSmile
Summary: Seven has come to your rescue but he's not exactly like you expected. You're simply trying to be nice and care for him but Seven is having a hard time controlling himself. His resolve slowly crumbling under your consistent presence
fluff/fluff





	

**Author's Note:**

> I HAVE MORE FEELINGS. here they are, what i would have liked the 8th/9th day to look like. +poor weak Seven struggles bc MC is fucking cute  
> message me @analsensei on tumblr to moan

 

You can hardly believe what just happened. Saeran, Seven’s brother had just been here, you’d been in his arms. It all happened so quickly, Seven and him exchanging hurried words and then it was over, Searan disappearing and just Seven remained. Dragging a hand across his face Seven neutralized his previous afflicted expression. You didn’t know what to do, glass scattered around your socked feet. Pulling your sweater over your head you gingerly begin picking up the glass pieces, wrapping them in the fluffy pullover. 

Seven watches you numbly for a few seconds, peeking at you from between his fingers. In nothing but a tank top you manage to collect all the pieces without receiving any cuts. Taking the shards over to the garbage can you dispose of them, shaking your sweater before tossing it into a dirty laundry pile. 

“Are you alright, Seven? That was-” unable to find the proper words you trail off. 

Seven said nothing hurrying past you and placing his equipment at the end of the bed. You watch him, unsure what to do as he prepares his laptop and quickly domineers a powerbar, plugging in his electronics. You give him some time, he was surely stressed from this entire situation and just needed a moment to set up, then he’d notice you. Or at least this is what you thought but as the minutes drag on your heart sinks, settling deep into your gut. He’s settled on the floor, already typing away frantically, mountains of text reflected by his glasses; he doesn’t acknowledge your presence, eyes zooming across walls of code. 

“Seven-?” You say delicately. 

He still doesn’t look your way, perhaps with his headphones on he hadn’t heard you. So you attempt again. 

“Seven?” You say louder this time, coming over to stand behind him, trying to see what he’s doing. 

This grabs his attention, he snaps his gaze up to you, mouth settling into a grimace. Yanking the headphones from his head he looks exceptionally annoyed. “What is it? Can’t you see I’m busy?”

Of course you can! It’s obvious he is busy but  _ so  _ busy he’s unable to even speak to you, after all that had happened? 

“I-I know you’re busy, I was just wondering-” you break off, what  _ were  _ you wondering? Wondering why he was acting so cold to you? Wondering where his usual charming goofy attitude had gone? Wondering why his heart didn’t seem to beat at the sight of you like yours did with him? 

“I was just wondering if you needed some help. I’m not bad with computers myself, I used to do research for my office all the time.” You finish lamely, swallowing the lump in your throat. 

Seven is no longer looking at you, his attention back on the screen. “No I don’t need any help, go do something else. You’re bothering me.” 

_ Bothering me _ , the words echo in your mind. Did he truly mean that? You thought he- he  _ what?  _ Cared for you although you’d never met him before and you’d known him for mere days. How foolish, you do as you were asked. Settling on the bed, pulling your phone out. You’re momentarily tempted to tell the others, curious if they knew how cold Seven truly could be. You don’t, it would be petty, Seven was here to  _ protect  _ you. It would be wrong to bad mouth him after all he’d sacrificed for you. Instead you answer a few emails, scroll Tripter and then pull a book from the bedside table. As you attempt to read you can’t help but steal glances at Seven, he’s so focused he pays no heed. He’s exhausted, it’s evident on every inch of him yet can’t help but find him inexplicably  _ cute _ . Younger than him than by two years perhaps you can’t think so but something about him makes your heart melt; maybe it’s that mop of red hair, the overlarge sweaters paired with track pants, you can’t help but look at him. 

You wonder if he finds you cute at all, he said so in the chatroom, he had all your personal information so he knew what you looked like. Yet, with what you had seen now you couldn’t be sure, was anything he said in the chatroom true? It was hard to concentrate on anything with Seven’s frantic typing, the loud clacking drawing your attention time and time again. 

Every time you glance at him his brows tighten a fraction, his scowl deepening. You tell yourself to stop, try to store your thoughts away, yet as time passes it becomes increasingly difficult. You decide to make you two supper, even though the sun has long gone down. Rice, vegetables and chopped beef, a simple but delicious smelling stir fry with a pinch of curry and garlic; it smells mouthwateringly good. Serving two generous bowls you bring one to Seven, placing it beside him. For a few moments he remains in stasis, typing away madly, but then his gaze shifts to the steaming bowl. 

He pulls off his headphones, “you didn’t need to do this,” he grumbles, still staring at the food. “I told you to stop paying attention to me.” 

Settling down on the floor across from him you scoop a bite into your mouth, humming happily as you swallow. You disregard his chilled comment, it would be  _ impossible  _ to ignore him, the boy you  _ liked  _ was in your bedroom. 

Seven chews on the inside of his cheek, having a mental debate with himself. Reluctantly he reaches for the bowl, pulling it into his lap. 

You smile, handing him your extra pair of chopsticks, taking another bite. “Stir fry is always better hot. I hope you like it.” 

A subtle flush of red, Seven pulled his hood on and drew the drawstrings tight. Slowly he takes a tentative bite, blowing on it before putting it in his mouth. Immediately his eyes widen, chewing on the tender beef quickly. 

“Is it good?” You ask, proud that you managed to keep your coyness to a minimum. 

Realizing his faulty Seven forces a scowl back on his face, “it’s  _ okay _ , I’ve had better.” 

You beam regardless of his comment, you know it’s all bluff anyways. “I’m glad you like it. It’s always nice when you can eat with someone you care about, makes the food taste better.” 

Chopsticks clatter across the floor, bowl tipping over in Seven’s lap, hot rice spilling across his thigh. His face is stricken, an almost comical amount of shock etched into every feature, mouth agape. 

Concerned by his reaction you reach out, your own food placed aside. “Seven are you alright? Here, lemme help you.” 

Unknowingly you scoop the fallen rice grains from his track pants back into the bowl, unaware of how close you, fingers brushing away fallen crumbs from his lap. 

“W-w-what the hell are you doing?!” He squeaks, hands balling into white knuckled fists at his side. 

Struck by your faulty you blush fiercely, scrambling backwards, clutching your hand to your chest. “I’m sorry-! I didn’t mean to!” You gush fervently, heart doing backflips within your chest. 

Seven is having a hard time regaining his self control as well, his eyes unable to meet yours as he struggled to hide his flush within his hoodie. Gingerly he once again takes up his bowl and takes another small bite, face averted. 

Grateful for the return to normalcy you continue eating as well, much slower than Seven because he keeps  _ distracting  _ you. It’s a very petty thought but you’re  _ so  _ happy he’s enjoying something you made, a flush of uncontrollable pride shooting through you. The two of you finish eating in silence, Seven pushing his dish away first, every grain of rice consumed. 

“Thanks for the food,” he grumbles, hands twitching against his thigh.

You try to suppress the goofy grin that tugs at your cheeks but you’re fighting a losing battle, hiding the infectious smile behind your sleeve. 

“You’re welcome,” you hesitate, “ _ Luciel _ .” 

Seven bodily jerks backwards, his hood falling off his crown of scarlet. “That’s the third time this evening-” he breathes. 

“Third time this evening that what?” You asked, not understanding. 

Heaving a laboured sigh, Seven places his head in his hands, shoulders bouncing in silent laughter.

“Seven? What’s the matter?” 

“You’re going to be the death of me, I-I can’t do this.” He chokes out, voice hoarse as he tugs at his mused bangs. 

“Seven . . . you’re scaring me.” 

“You’re  _ too  _ nice. Too  _ good _ . How am I suppose to- how can I keep this up if you keep tempting me like this.” He moans, a hiss of air passing between his teeth. “I don’t know if I can keep this up.” 

“Keep  _ what  _ up? I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You pout, upset that he’s refusing to answer any of your questions. 

Seven pushes his hair from his eyes, looking at you from between a cage of fingers. His shoulders are tense but there is something shimmering in his eyes that reads of promise, affection? 

“Stop being cute! I’m gonna lose my  _ mind _ . Go sit somewhere where I can’t see, hear or smell you. I need to get some work done.” Seven demands, retrieving his laptop.

You’re still confused, not understanding his conflicting words. Clearing both of your dishes you decide to go take a shower, hoping some hot water could sort your thoughts out. Locking the bathroom door you strip, turning the water on, slipping into the shower. As soon as you begin to scrub shampoo into your hair you hear something. A muffled string of rhythmic thumps, as if someone was keeping time by banging their head against a wall. Shrugging you decide it’s unimportant and continue showering. Outside, leaning against the bedroom wall Seven numbly bangs his head into the wall, forcing  _ unnecessary  _ thoughts from his head. Glancing over to the bathroom door he continued, this time harder than previous. Very  _ unnecessary  _ thoughts,  _ dangerous  _ thoughts. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!! how was it? hopefully alright! lemme know please if you have time!! appreciate ya!


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